


Everything to Me

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Greg Lestrade Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Greg Lestrade, Kidnapped Greg Lestrade, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Protective Mycroft Holmes, Rated T for swearing, Rescue, Worried Mycroft Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Greg Lestrade has been kidnapped and held hostage. As rescue finally reaches him, Mycroft Holmes is first through the door.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 62
Kudos: 638





	Everything to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ewebie's fault. (Everything these days is Ewebie's fault). <3 Also the fault of the production team behind season three of _Riviera_ , specifically episode two, where Rupert Graves gets kidnapped, tied up and held hostage. It was terribly inspiring.
> 
> This story starts right out with the rescue - the hurt is all over. Let the comfort begin. <3

As the heavy steel door slides open, Mycroft draws a shaking breath. It feels like it might be his last. Light floods into the shipping container, revealing a sight he'll revisit in his nightmares for the rest of his days: a man on his knees, his arms drawn wide by ropes, secured from his wrists to the roof. His body hangs limp within the restraints. His grey head droops low, a makeshift gag knotted at the back of his neck. He isn't moving.

Before anyone can stop him, Mycroft strides into the container. 

Cries go up—there could be explosives, traps, other dangers—Mycroft barely hears them. He reaches Lestrade in all of two steps, hauls the gag from his mouth, and stoops low to support his weight within the ropes, holding him up, gripping onto him.

Lestrade chokes against Mycroft's shoulder, coughing and hacking for breath.

_ Alive.  _ The force of it wrenches Mycroft's heart out of shape.  _ Oh, god. You're alive. _

"It's alright," he hears his own voice say, breaking. "It's all alright. We've got you. It's over."

Lestrade's weight sags into Mycroft's arms. He turns his face into Mycroft's neck, shaking as he gasps out the words. "Myc— _ f-fuck— _ "

"Lean on me," Mycroft says, his pulse hard and fast. Two of the security operatives step forwards into the container with them, sheath their firearms at once and attend to the restraints. Mycroft braces to take all of Lestrade's weight. "That's it. Lean forwards onto me. Everything will be alright."

It takes only seconds for the ropes to come loose. They slide through their hooks on the ceiling, releasing Lestrade into Mycroft's hold.

"There," Mycroft murmurs, his mouth now entirely on automatic. He hasn't the slightest clue what he's saying; the words arise through sheer instinct. As Lestrade curls into him, more comfort comes forth. "There now," he hushes, laying a shaking hand on the back of Lestrade's head. Lestrade's arms lock feebly around his torso, his muscles trembling from the strain. "All the worst is over now. You're safe."

Lestrade's choked gasp of relief sounds painfully like a sob. It shreds Mycroft's composure into confetti.

"Mycroft—" Lestrade buries his face against Mycroft's shoulder, clinging, his fingers struggling to close their grip. His hands bunch clumsily in the back of Mycroft's coat. "Myc—"

"Shhh, now... everything's okay..." Medics have joined them in the crate, here to see to Lestrade—but Mycroft can't bear to let him go, even to be examined. As their cheeks rub, Mycroft's eyes close. "I'm here," he promises, shaking. "This will all be a memory soon."

Lestrade's breath seems to catch. He turns his head against Mycroft's cheek, searching for something. Their noses nudge. With a wild flutter of his pulse, it occurs to Mycroft that if he possessed even a thimbleful of courage, this might be the moment when he finally kisses Lestrade—right here, kneeling on the dirty floor of this shipping container, so overcome by relief and distress that risking his one and only friendship would at last seem worth it.

Lestrade's fingers curl tight in the back of Mycroft's hair. With a shudder, he pushes close. 

His lips press to Mycroft's, nervous and clumsy. It feels like a plea.

Breaking open inside, Mycroft returns the desperate kiss as best he can, painfully conscious of the medics and the security operatives unwittingly sharing this precious moment with them. He can feel the surprise and uncertainty on the air, the startled pause this development has caused. They all knew that a close personal friend of Mr Holmes had been taken hostage, but not that Mycroft loves the man. Hardly anyone in the world knew that—even Greg.

Not until this moment.

The kiss ends as quickly and unexpectedly as it began. Greg pulls back with a shiver, embarrassed and shaking.

"S-sorry," he gasps. "Sorry... I..."

"Don't be," Mycroft says, holding onto him. With a nervous flush, he places a soundless second kiss upon Greg's cheek, a promise that nothing unwelcome has occurred. "There's no need to be sorry."

"Thought I'd never see you again," Greg chokes out, his voice thick with tears. His features tighten in distress behind the dirt and the sweat. "Thought I'd fucking die without..."

Mycroft's heart strains.

"I feared that too," he whispers. Forcing himself to focus, he gestures to the medics to approach. "My team need to examine you, Greg. You might need treatment."

Greg shudders again, keeping a tight hold on Mycroft's coat. "S-sure," he mumbles. "Okay."

Mycroft shifts slightly to one side to let the medics work, staying close enough for Greg to hold onto him. Beyond the doors of the shipping crate, radio messages crackle back and forth. The news is being shared: the hostage has been recovered. He's alive, and Mr Holmes and the medics are with him. Behind the security personnel, a soft-eyed Anthea watches the scene from a distance, her arms closed around herself, the corner of her phone pressed gently against her mouth. For days, her quiet reassurance and support has kept Mycroft's strength from caving in. His friendship with Greg Lestrade grew from nothing, a seedling in the ashes of Mulgrave, and Anthea has witnessed every minute of its progress. She alone understands the fullness of this moment.

After a few quiet checks, the decision is made to head to hospital. If nothing else, Greg is badly dehydrated. He has bruises and cuts that require tending, and a hospital will be able to check him for more serious injuries. Mycroft assists the medics in getting Greg onto his feet, taking every single movement one by one. Greg's steps are weary and painful, but with Mycroft supporting him around the waist, he manages to hobble from the container.

"Ouch," he breathes as they stop just outside, his grip white-knuckled on Mycroft's shoulder. He leans into Mycroft's body and pants with the pain. "F-fuck—"

"Where?"

"Everywhere—Jesus, all up my arms— _ ow—" _

Mycroft gathers Greg in close, his heart thumping. 

"Rest on me if you need," he murmurs. Greg does so, shuddering as he settles against Mycroft's chest. "A car will be here soon," Mycroft promises, soft and quiet in Greg's ear. "We'll have a doctor take a look at you, then we'll find some peace and privacy."

Greg swallows, letting out a breath. 

"I'm in love with you, Myc," he says. "Been in love with you for years. Too scared to ever tell you. M'sorry if that's..."

_ God almighty. _

"Please don't apologise," Mycroft says, his heart pounding. "You don't know how desperately I've longed to hear those words from you." He laces his fingers through the back of Greg's hair, cradling him. "I can't describe the horror it caused me, receiving the ransom demand. These past few days have crippled me. I haven't been able to stop imagining you, alone and in pain. It's been unbearable."

Greg's hands tighten in the back of Mycroft's coat. "H-holy shit..."

"I'm sorry this is what it took to tell you."

"No. No, don't. Don't say sorry."

"I never thought you could possibly—I-I didn't believe you'd ever reciprocate my feelings, Greg. The possibility seemed light years beyond my reach."

Greg's voice breaks.

"Stay with me," he begs, tightening his arms. "At the hospital. Don't just vanish on me, will you?"

Inhaling, Mycroft hides a kiss against Greg's hair. 

"I promise I won't be leaving your side," he says. "Not for any reason. When you're discharged, you'll come to my home and I'll arrange care for you. And I will be here, a single glance away, until you're well again."

Greg's hands shake. "A-and after that?"

Mycroft closes his eyes.

"And after that," he murmurs, nuzzling Greg's temple. "I swear it."


End file.
